


After The Ball

by Meduseld



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Greasers, Enjoy the ridiculousness, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 04:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11245872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meduseld/pseuds/Meduseld
Summary: Historically inaccurate sometime in the 50s smalltown, where Hal's a greaser and Barry is the good kid from a decent family, ahead.





	After The Ball

Barry’s shoes pinch.

The Commissioner’s Ball is in full swing, and Joe is spinning around Iris on the polished dance floor, and Barry’s shoes pinch and his tie’s too tight and he’s exhausted.

Non-stop double shifts and summer heat leave have him feeling drained and half drowned. The public announcement of Eddie and Iris’ engagement at the start of the party hasn’t helped. His smile feels more brittle with every second.

His eyes wander away from the West’s dazzling smiles, they’re so happy he _aches_ and he’s never felt more selfish. He tracks the streaks of light on the dark town square, slashes of neon in the night slicing into the windows of people that’ll never be considered good enough, _well bred enough_ , to be here.

One of the windows is the small square above Ferris’ Auto Shop.

It’s a bedroom technically, but it’s only got a small cot and cracked plaster and a sink so caked with oil stains there’s no way to ever clean them out. Joe would have a fit if he knew that Barry knew what it looked like from personal experience, if he knew his adopted son had been alone with _‘that drifter’_ the Ferris’ girl had hired, the flirty one who wore leather jackets and slicked his hair up _‘like one of those hoodlums in the papers’._ Half the gossip in town involved _‘that Jordan fella’._

Barry just called him Hal.

He’d probably be stretched out on that narrow, rickety cot right now, hair loose and soft, in nothing but ratty underwear to fight back against the muggy heat. Maybe he’d even be awake, moving a foot to the rhythm of the band, small smirk playing on his face.

He looked back into the ballroom and saw Eddie taking the next dance and tore his eyes away and onto his wristwatch. One more hour, and he could leave within the bounds of propriety.

What he planned to do after that had nothing to do with it.  


End file.
